The Gamemaker
by DecietfulHonesty
Summary: Seneca Crane has been Gamemaker for three years, so the 74th Games should be no different. But, something about this year just sets him on edge and he cant seem to figure out why. Set before 'The Hunger Games' book.


The Head Gamemaker finally retreated to his penthouse apartment after his excruciatingly long day. The 74th annual Hunger Games were beginning the next day and he had so many things to finalize. As it was only his third year as Head Gamemaker he still wasn't quite used to the stress of the final days, but maybe next year would be easier. The arena was rather simple this year but still so many things managed to malfunction in the past few hours.

Starting at dawn, which was ridiculously early for a Capitol resident to be awake, he spent his entire day in the Control Room, inspecting the monitors and making sure the traps were set for the tributes tomorrow morning. One of the fireball cannons in the East sector had jammed and he had to call a crew in to fix it. Fortunately, most of the crew members made it out unscathed when the cannon misfired but unfortunately, a small pile of paperwork for the ones who didn't was waiting on his desk for him to complete after the Games. He delegated the inspection of the lab/morgue to his second in command and headed to his pre-Game interview with Caesar Flickerman. He rambled off a few of his prewritten responses to Caesar and then was shuttled to the party.

All the big names were there and he had to mingle in order to stay up to date on the goings-on around the Capitol. Also, after a few drinks, many of them were pretty loose-lipped with who they were betting on, even though the Gamemaker wasn't supposed to know. It seemed quite a few people were counting on the "Girl on Fire" from district 12 to be a standout. Seneca would have to keep an eye on her and see if she was anything special. The best thing that came from the party, though, was that Seneca managed to reconnect with his closest friend, Huck, from school.

In school, not many of the kids liked to talk to Seneca, besides Huck. While most kids enjoyed talking about the latest toys, gadgets, or clothes their parents were buying for them, Seneca talked about the easiest way to remove the head of a bug with a piece of string. Huck was the only child in the school who stayed and listened to his rantings and offered some advice as well. The boys shortly became close friends and did everything together for years. After school, they both went in search of jobs but attempted to stay in contact as much as possible. This proved to be difficult with the increase in responsibilities they both had, and eventually they lost contact all together.

Nowadays, Huck was in charge of all the movements of the Peacekeepers and thus, was an important person in the Capitol. Though he had never served a day in his life, money can buy a lot of things in Panem, power and influence included. Huck and Seneca spent hours catching up, even long after the party was officially over. They swore that, after the Games, they would spend as much time together as they did in their childhood and, when they were finally ushered out of the party venue, they parted on a glad note.

Now, Seneca stood in front of his floor length mirror with a smile on his face. He saw a few stray hairs ruining the perfection of his elaborate beard but decided to deal with them in the morning. The moment he saw his enormous bed in the center of his room he realized how exhausted he really was and crawled under the covers. In no time at all, he felt himself relaxing into the plush mattress, preparing himself for the long days to come.

The next thing Seneca felt was fear, but he wasn't sure why at first. The world around him slowly faded into view, but it wasn't _his_ world. Or was it? It seemed to be early morning, judging by the softness of the light that reflected off the dew covered grass all around him. The trees around him looked similar to the special ones he had grown in the arena for the Games, but there was no way he was in the arena, right? He looked around for some sort of clues to where he was but saw only trees and bushes, still and silent. Except for one cluster of bushes. His gaze shot back to the rustling bushes in front of him and he crept forward to investigate. When he was still 10 feet from the bush, a figure shot out at him and pinned him to the ground with a bloodied dagger raised above its head. The bloodlust in the figured eyes faded as it glimpsed Seneca's face and it lowered the dagger.

"Seneca? I didn't know you were a tribute, too," the figure said, looking distraught.

It took Seneca a moment to put the voice with the face of the person in front of him.

"Huck? Is that you?" he asked in disbelief. The person in front of him sounded like Huck, but looked like a 14-year old version of his old friend. He had the same dark blonde hair that was usually slicked back, but now hung in his eyes and was matted with dirt.

"Sure is, Senny," Huck said with a wink, "I'm surprised you managed to stay alive this long, you being all oblivious and such, but I'm glad I found you when I did. We've got work to do," Huck wiped the blood off his dagger and started walking through the trees. Seneca was even more confused than before but followed his friend.

"Huck, what the heck is going on? What do you mean 'tribute' and what work do we have to do in the woods?" Seneca kept his arms close to his body to avoid touching any plants and tried to keep up with Huck. Huck had never been near nature in his life either but he seemed to be doing surprisingly well at not tripping over roots. He paused a few times to look closely at a tree or move a bush to see past it before glancing back at Seneca to answer his questions.

"What's going on is that we're looking for the way out. Now that I know you are in here too, we can escape together. And I would think you would know best of all what 'tribute' meant. We're in the Games, Senny, but not for much longer."

He continued on his search and Seneca followed along more confused than ever. How could he be a tribute? He was a citizen of the Capitol. And the Head Gamemaker! Or at least he was. Come to think of it he felt and sounded much younger than he normally was. His hands went to his jaw and he discovered his signature beard was gone, leaving only smooth skin in its place. As they walked, Seneca started to recognize the area. There was a fireball cannon hidden in that wide tree on the left. On the right was a trapdoor that they would release the genetically modified 'mutts' when the Games started to wrap up. Soon they would cross a creek and there would be a small cave on the far side for a clever tribute to find. How did he end up here, with his own death trap being used against him?

Sure enough, they crossed the creek and Huck began to look thoroughly through the brush surrounding the rocky bank.

"Why do you even think that there's a way out? This arena was built in the middle of a wasteland and surrounded by a forcefield to keep it isolated and keep the tributes contained." Seneca explained.

"There's always a way out, Seneca," Huck said as he pulled back a tall fern. On the other side of the fern was not the rocky wall Seneca had been expecting but a quaint suburb with grassy lawns and small ranch houses, that was the popular style before the Dark Days. The fake sun was just reaching noon in the arena but in the outlying suburb, it was early evening and the windows of the homes began to illuminate, casting rectangles of light on the ground outside.

A quick glance around revealed no one patrolling this odd hole in the arena and Huck crouched close to the ground and slunk out into the real world. Seneca followed cautiously, wondering what kind of punishment would await them for running away from the Games. Once they were free of the arena, they stood silently for a full minute, as if expecting an alarm to sound. When they heard nothing, Seneca's face broke into a grin and he peeked at Huck who had the same expression on his face. They had both survived the arena and were free. The only problem was that now, they had nowhere to go.

They must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing Seneca knew, it was morning in the village. He frantically shook Huck awake whispering, "Huck, come on. We have to get out of here. Someone will see us." Once fully alert they crept along the fences separating the yards from one other, looking for a way out. At this point, the residents of the houses were waking up and moving around their houses. Surely, someone would look out the back door and see two boys, who were clearly escaped tributes, sneaking through their yard and call the authorities. They started running, hoping for there to be a break between houses that they could slip through. They all seemed to be connected and the row of yards stretched on an impossible in either direction. The trapped feeling crept up Seneca's spine as he realized they were caught between the forcefield of the arena and an impenetrable wall of houses.

Apparently out of nowhere, a solid row of Peacekeepers armed with archaic spears appeared blocking their path. They whirled around to try the other way and saw a similar line closing in on the opposite side.

"We have to go back into the arena," Seneca shouted.

"No! At least one of us will be killed in there," Huck shouted back, searching for a way out.

"But both of us will be killed if we stay here. There's a chance we can survive against the tributes but we have no chance here."

Huck seemed to see the logic in Seneca's point and allowed himself to be pulled back the way they had escaped. Seneca searched the shimmery forcefield of the arena and found the clear space they had cut through. Seneca dove through the space shortly followed by Huck and they tumbled onto the rocky bank of the creek. Where he should have felt relief, Seneca only felt more trapped and, in addition, pure terror. As he pushed himself to his feet, he saw a dozen figures creep out of the shadows of the trees, all holding weapons. He slowly recognized them as the tributes of this year's Game that he had seen in the parade. Huck stood and drew his dagger, pointed Seneca to a small opening in the line of tributes, and charged, dagger waving frantically. The tributes showed no reaction to the attack and casually raised their weapons to chase the runaway tributes after they passed. Huck skidded to a stop once Seneca was safely out of range of the tributes.

"You go I'll hold them off!" he yelled, dagger raised. Before Seneca could turn back for Huck, the blonde boy from District 2 ran him through with a broad sword and threw him aside. Seneca screamed for his friend, hoping that somehow, he was still alive, but logically, knew otherwise. The District 2 boy stared at Seneca with no emotion in his eyes, like he hadn't just killed a boy in one strike, and advanced slowly towards Seneca. He had no choice but to run for his life. This Game was cruel. Seneca was taunted with the prospect that he might be able to escape this cage of death with not only his life, but the life of his closest friend, and then had it cruelly ripped away in the last seconds. What kind of creatures designed this torture?

He ran for what seemed like hours and, though he couldn't see the other tributes behind him, he did not dare stop. He sped through the thick trees, stumbling occasionally over a stray root but kept plowing forward until he saw some kind of clearing ahead. He squeezed his eyes shut and put on a final burst of speed as he launched into the clearing. Something was still amiss, though. This clearing was where the Cornucopia was supposed to be but it wasn't there. Slowly, he looked around him and saw round metal platforms spaced equally in a circle, uniformly surrounding him. The tributes, whom he thought he left back by the creek, emerged from the surrounding trees and marched like soldiers to their designated platform, their emotionless faces staring down at him. Seneca knew he wouldn't be able to fight them all, but they didn't seem to be attacking; they merely stood there watching him. He then heard footsteps moving slowly towards him at the same moment he realized one of the platforms was empty. He whipped around and saw the famous 'Girl on Fire,' Katniss something, standing about 30 feet from him with a silver bow and arrow pointed directly at his heart.

"This is it, then. There's no way out of this one," he said to himself out loud. Katniss smirked and whispered

"_There's always a way out_," then he saw her fingers slowly release the bowstring.

Seneca jolted upright in bed, breathing heavily from the shock of the dream. His hands went first to his chest, to inspect for arrows, then to face to find that his trademark beard was still in place. He took a few calming breaths before taking in reality. The sun was just rising over horizon, sparkling off the lavish Capitol buildings with their curtains drawn to buy a few more hours of sleep. His plush penthouse was in the exact same state as when he collapsed into bed a few hours before his fitful sleep. A glance at his alarm clock revealed that he only had a few minutes before he had to start getting ready to face the day, feeling no more rested than when he retuned to his room the night before. The Games would be starting in a few short hours and he had to make sure everyone and everything was in top shape.

He pushed his favorite combination of buttons in the shower and reminded himself that it was just a terrible dream brought on by stress and too many drinks at the party. So why did it feel so real? And why were the feelings of terror and guilt lingering long after he woke? He brushed them off and continued with his morning routine, putting on his red suit and slicking his dark hair back.

When he arrived at the Control Room he meticulously scanned the forcefield surrounding the empty arena for any holes or glitches. After the thorough check exposed nothing, Seneca laughed to himself at how ridiculous the idea was. It was physically impossible for there to be a hole in the forcefield and even if there was, the arena was in the middle of the desert, there was no escaping it. The other Gamemakers began to file into the Control Room and take their places, setting up their controls. The tributes would be arriving at the arena in a few hours. Seneca smiled to himself and thought, _let the Games begin._

The last 15 days had been strenuous. Seneca ran his hands down his face in an attempt to keep himself focused but the stress was wearing down on him. President Snow wanted his head for his little rule change about the victors, but he had a plan to fix it before the Games were done. That Katniss had proved more adaptable than he thought. He had thrown almost everything in the arena at her and she still survived. Now that he had given her the push, she spent half her energy trying to keep her district partner alive, which kept the audiences entranced and happy. Too bad that they both couldn't make it out. The muttations had been released and it was down to District 12 and the boy from District 2. A brief scuffle atop the Cornucopia and both tributes from District 12 were left standing. Now was the fun part. He sent out the announcement that only one could be crowned, and watched in amusement as the jubilation on their faces turned to horror. For some reason, his sadism was increased when it came to that Katniss. Maybe it was her threatening appearance in his dream that unnerved him, maybe it was the fact that she shot an arrow at his head in the training room, but for whatever reason, he simply disliked her.

On the large screen in the Control Room he saw that both the tributes had thrown down their weapons. So it was going to be a battle of wits then; he could handle that. He knew the Capitol audiences were sitting on the edge of their seats right now, while he just wanted it to be over. The view on the screen switched to a camera that pointed over the boy's shoulder and showed Katniss frantically searching her brain for a solution.

_There's no way you can save him too, Katniss. Make your move before I make mine, _Seneca thought. He wasn't sure how she did it, but Katniss looked directly into the invisible camera with defiance in her eyes. The camera followed her gaze down to her hands, where she held a small pile of dark colored berries. Seneca's stomach plummeted as the words from the dream rang in his ears.

_There's always a way out._


End file.
